The Grim Reaper
-1-
is what my mother used to call my father.
She would say, and look at me.
Since the day I was born until I was ten, I lived in a small room with walls that felt like they were closing in, squishing everything together. There were no windows, no sunlight, just four cracked walls that always seemed to frown at me.
I never knew what lay beyond that door frame; the outside world was nothing but a distant concept, something I saw in books or imagined in my mind when I stared at the ceiling for hours. I used to think maybe the world outside was just like our room—dark and quiet.
My father liked to go out a lot. He'd leave and come back smelling like the sour stuff from his bottles he liked so much. His face would be all scrunched up and red, his eyes looking at me and my mother like we were dirt he had to step over. When he got mad, he hit us. He hit her the most, and she just let him. This was what life was supposed to be.
My mother was always gone too, but not like him. She went out to work because somebody had to. She stayed out as long as She could, working at all kinds of places. she never looked at me. Not really. She looked through me, like I was just another crack in the wall, another flaw in her life that she couldn’t fix.
Sometimes, I’d catch her kneeling on the floor, crying so much that her whole body shook. Other times, her grief turned to rage, cursing my father, promising to one day cut his throat while he slept, to end the nightmare with her own two hands.
One night, when my father was snoring loud on the couch, I decided to be a good son. I remembered my mother's words. I thought, maybe I could help her. Maybe if I did what she said, she wouldn't cry or get angry all the time.
So I went to the kitchen and found the knife with the dull blade. I stood over him as he lay sprawled out on the couch, his mouth open, his face slack. I pressed the knife against his throat, just like she said she would, just like how I remembered her cutting vegetables on the rare days we had them.
Red came rushing out, and it soaked into the couch. He gurgled once, his eyes going wide, then empty. Just like that, he was silent. He wasn't angry anymore. He didn't shout, and he didn't hit me either. My mother was right. I smiled.
I didn’t understand what I had exactly done, but I thought I’d done something good, like I’d fixed something. But when I turned to my mother, her eyes were different. She wasn't smiling. Her eyes remained the same, carrying the same look as when she looked at father, but this time, her gaze didn't pass through me. It was directed at me.
"a monster" is what she called me.
The next day, my mother was gone too.
She wasn’t on the floor or the couch; she was hanging from the ceiling, swinging gently like she was taking a nap in the air.
I called out to her, but she didn’t answer. She always used to cry or scream or say something, but now she was just... quiet, like father. I thought maybe she was mad at me, like I did something wrong, but I didn’t know what.
Days went by, and I started feeling this gnawing pain in my belly. There was no food left, nothing to eat. I didn't know what to do. I called out to my mother, but she still wouldn’t answer. The room smelled strange and heavy, like it was sick. I was getting weaker, my head felt fuzzy, and all I wanted was for the quiet to stop.
And that's when the landlady came. She opened the door and started screaming, her face all twisted and pale. After that, a lot of other people with strange clothes came as well.
That was the first time I stepped past the door frame. The first time I saw the infinite blue called the sky, and the giant unflickering light bulb called the sun.
-2-
The café was quiet, save for the hum of the espresso machine and the low chatter from the few customers scattered around.
I sat near the back, a cup of coffee cooling in front of me. My gaze followed Yuna as she moved between tables, her expression as impassive as ever, perfectly aloof.
She had had this job as a waitress in this café for two years now. Ever since her dad and my adoptive father, Min-ho, died, our family’s been in a tight spot trying to make ends meet. Soo-Jin, our mother, worked multiple jobs just to keep us afloat. And I, too, worked a couple of part-time jobs. Although us working part-time jobs was a secret from Soo-Jin.
Yuna came over, wiping her hands on her apron.
Yuna Lee
Your coffee is getting cold, Eun-Woo.
I gave her my usual smile, the one I practiced in the bathroom mirror every morning.
Eun-Woo Lee
It's okay. I don't need the coffee to keep me warm from the cold winter air when you're here.
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her lips twitched trying to surpass a smile.
Before I could answer, the bell above the door jingled, and a group of loud, obnoxious college students walked in. They took a table near the front, their laughter cutting through the quiet of the café. I watched Yuna’s face shift instantly back to that mask of cold professionalism as she went to take their orders.
I took note of how one of them allowed his eyes to drag up and down her body.
"Hey, sweetheart," one of them called out as Yuna scribbled down on her notebook. He leaned back in his chair, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. "How about an Americano and maybe your number while you're at it, huh?"
I could see how her grip on her pen tightened, trying to hold herself back. She was clearly uncomfortable, but it didn't seem like it was the first time something like this had happened to her.
Yuna Lee
One Americano, anything else?
"Yeah," the guy said, his grin widening as his eyes dipped to her chest. "Got anything to perk me up? Something nice and soft, like those—"
That's when something in me just snapped.
Yuna turned to walk away, dismissing him like the insect he was, but the guy reached out and slapped her on the backside, laughing like he’d done something clever.
I was already moving before I realized it. The world narrowed to that one, smug face. In an instant, I was on him, my fist colliding with his jaw with a satisfying crunch. His head snapped back, and for a second, the room went silent. And then I kept going. My fists hammered into him, again and again, the sickening crack of bone and the spray of blood igniting something primal inside me.
He dared to touch her. He dared to lay his filthy hands on what was mine.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. His friends were shouting, scrambling to pull me off, but I was seeing red, a dark, pulsing rage that blurred everything except for the thought that he needed to hurt, needed to bleed for what he’d done.
Yuna’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and desperate. She grabbed my arm, and for a second, I almost hit her, too.
But I stopped. I let her pull me back, my chest heaving, my knuckles bloodied.
The guy lay on the floor, a broken mess, groaning and clutching his face.
Yuna’s face was pale, her eyes wide with shock, with something like fear, and I hated that.
Yuna Lee
What the hell do you think you're doing!?
I averted my gaze from the bloody scene in front of me to Yuna.
I could hear one of the college kids call the police and sure enough, they arrived shortly afterwards, dragging me to the station.
At the station, I sat in the holding cell, my hands resting calmly in my lap. I wasn’t worried. I just had to play a role; the role of an overprotective brother who couldn't help but attack the man who dared touch his sister.
Yuna showed up with our homeroom teacher, Mr. Kim, instead of calling our mother. She knew Soo-jin couldn’t handle this right now. The police were quick to explain the situation to Mr. Kim, and he gave me that disappointed look teachers always have.
"Eun-Woo," Mr. Kim said, his voice firm but not unkind, "What happened?"
I lowered my head, the picture of remorse.
Eun-Woo Lee
"I’m really sorry, sir. I just… I couldn’t think straight. He touched Yuna, and I… I lost it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I just… I couldn’t stop."
Yuna was standing beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She hadn’t said a word since the café. Her eyes flicked to me, but I couldn’t read her expression.
Mr. Kim sighed, rubbing his temples. "I understand why you were angry, Eun-Woo, but you can’t resort to violence. No matter what the situation is."
I whispered, my voice shaking just enough to sell the act.
Mr. Kim softened then, the way adults always do when they think they’ve reached you. He patted my shoulder, giving me a fatherly look. "We’ll get this sorted, but you need to be more careful. You’re better than this."
I murmured, looking up at him with the perfect mix of gratitude and shame.
I was released soon after. Yuna walked beside me in silence as we made our way home. The only sound was from the crunching of the snow beneath our feet and the bustling of the night city.
I turned to her. she had her hands in the pockets of her coat. Her cheeks and nose were flushed from the cold air.
I asked in my gentlest, most caring voice.
She glanced at me briefly from the corner of her eyes.
Yuna Lee
You shouldn't have done that.
I said, giving her a small, apologetic smile.
Eun-Woo Lee
But I couldn’t just stand by and let him treat you like that. I’m sorry if I scared you.
Yuna’s expression flickered, something softening in her eyes, though she quickly looked away.
She muttered. I could tell she wasn't mad anymore.
She could never stay mad at me for long anyway.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to me as we walked side by side.
Eun-Woo Lee
Come on, don't give me the cold shoulder now~
Eun-Woo Lee
I've already apologised, didn't I?
She smiled, hitting my chest playfully.
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